“Maybe it’s always there so you have to touch me.”
“I don’t need a reason to touch you, sweetheart.”
We exchange a soft grin, like there’s a secret between us.
“If you would’ve told me you were coming here, I would’ve brought us a picnic,” he chuckles. “We could’ve done this and then had dinner. I’m easy, you know.”
“That’s what I hear,” I joke. “Do you do this often?”
“Yeah,” he confesses with a slight shrug. “Sometimes. A girl I knew once upon a time went on a rant about how you should get your hands dirty and all this nonsense.”
“Did she?”
“She did. She was a smart one.” His eyes darken. “And so fucking beautiful . . . even with dirt on her face and paint still stuck in her hair.”
“There is not,” I giggle.
“Oh, there is,” he laughs. “But it brings back such great memories I think you should just leave it there permanently.”
I kick a rock, watching it roll across the soil. Forcing a swallow, I try to untangle the thoughts twisting together in my mind before I do something stupid.
Unfortunately, it’s one of those moments when my libido works faster than logic and I hear the words from my lips before my brain knows what’s happening.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“What?”
“That was my stomach rumbling.”
A cheek-to-cheek smile spreads across his handsome face. “I did hear that, actually. You should let me fix it after we’re done here.”
With a flutter in my chest, I return his smile. “I’d like that.”
Ford
MY FOOT IS HEAVY ON the accelerator, in part because I’m worried I fucked up.
I should have never let her out of my sight.
In my twenty-eight years of life, I’ve never once feared being stood up. Not even with Brittany Belview, the hottest girl in the tenth grade. But tonight? I’m kind of terrified.
My truck rolls to a stop in front of her house. It’s a small brick one-story with neatly trimmed hedges along the front. The steps leading to the porch need painted and I find myself calculating if I have time this weekend to accomplish that task.
“Slow down,” I mutter as I head to the front door.
Glancing down at my clothes before ringing the bell, I smooth out an imaginary wrinkle from my shirt. I had no idea whether to dress up or down because we really didn’t hash that out. In lieu of any direction, I threw on a pair of khakis and a blue button-down. Figuring it didn’t look like I expected too much, yet made an effort, I left the house with a bit of confidence I can’t quite find just now as I press the doorbell.
The door swings open and I let out a sigh of relief. She’s dressed in a pair of leggings and a red top that showcases every curve on her body. Her hair is still wet from the shower, her face free of any makeup.
I must be staring because her face flushes. “I know I look like a mess, but—”
“I was just standing here thinking you’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She looks at the floor. “Thank you, Ford.”
“You need to thank your mama.” I step over the threshold and take in her abode.
The walls are white, the floors a honey-colored hardwood. There are pictures everywhere and little accent pieces in blues and golds. It reminds me a lot of my own house, but with an Ellie flair.